Supernova
by Big Jew
Summary: A Twisted Metal:Black Story with an original character


Car Name: Supernova Car Type: Sleek, purple sports car License: OSCAR2  
  
Handling- 8/10 Speed- 9/10 Armor- 3/10 Special- 6/10  
  
Special Name: Curtain Call Description: An electro-magnetic net is shot out from the roof or trunk. Disables car for a couple of moments and does some damage.  
  
Driver Name: Samuel Haynes Age: 35 From: New York, NY Driver Profile: Vivid Illusions/Dreams Afraid of sudden flashes of light Bi-Polar Screams at all hours Medication: Heavy sedatives, straight jacket  
  
Beginning  
  
(V.O.) They say a world is a stage. If it is, then I'm its fucking tragic hero. From nobody to a golden boy and now the insane asylum patient. Might as well call me fucking Oedipus. Ever since that day, my life has turned upside down, ruining my life. Sometimes I wish that gun had an extra bullet left so I wouldn't have to deal with the trauma. Everyday I scream out the lines that were meant to be my finest, over and over again until it echoes throughout the hall. Everyday, that is, until I met him. He called himself Calypso, a name worthy of this hellhole. He said that if I won his idiotic game, I could have the one thing I've dreamt about these past years.  
  
Revenge.  
  
How could I pass it up?  
  
Interlude  
  
Samuel looked at the tank with a pure look of a man gone over the edge. He had nearly exhausted his weapon supply fighting this monster, having only three power missiles left. Minion barely had a scratch, but his protective shield was down, so Samuel took that as an encouraging sign. As Minion charged at Supernova, Samuel heard that familiar noise. His special was loaded. He armed Curtain Call and sped towards Minion, launching the net at it. Amazingly, the net adjusted to Minion's gigantic size and managed to stop it in its tracks. The three missiles screamed through the air as Supernova launched the three power missiles at the tank. Minion was toast, but the explosion knocked out Samuel..  
  
(V.O.) .dreams are just like movies, except they're all too real. When I was knocked out, I knew where I was. My mind had taken me back to that fucking fated day, one that destroyed my sanity and me. I was on my first Broadway play, my dream since childhood. I was nervous as hell, like every big performance that I had. My agent was backstage with me, trying to keep me level. "Knock 'em dead, slugger" was his last words before I saw him in court.  
  
The play went along beautifully. Everything fell into place and the audience ate it up like popcorn. But the real tragedy was during the last act. I was supposed to go crazy and fire blanks at my wife, her lover, and my son, give a long speech on how they destroyed my sanity, then shoot myself in the head at the end. I did just that, except that people fell down a lot faster than in the rehearsals. I gave my speech, and held the gun inside my mouth. I then felt a 'pop' in my back..I had been shot! Turns out that the gun was loaded, and that I put them in there. Sure, I didn't like my cast, but I wouldn't kill them on stage! I was sentenced to life at Blackfield, forced to spend my life as a freak actor who went over the edge..  
  
When I win this bloody fucking tournament, I'll get to show what 'artistic expression' feels like.  
  
Conclusion  
  
As Warhawk burned to the ground, I felt a surge of dark intentions in my body. I had won the 21st Twisted Metal tournament. My wish for the last 3 years will be a reality.at last my dreams will go away, I'll have fucking redemption.  
  
Finally.  
  
I went to Calypso, and he congratulated on my wish. As he reeled off some stupid speech, I thought about what I would do to him after I was finished with my wish. Finally, he gave me directions to an abandoned theatre and told me to meet him there. I broke 13 traffic rules on the way there, nearly hitting elderly women. The old, who fucking need old people. I arrived at the theatre, and opened the door. Calypso was waiting for me with the same gun that I shot those actors with, and his knife. I thanked him, and asked him where I could meet this fucking slime ball. He led me down to the stage, where my old agent stood there, wearing concrete shoes and chained to a wall. I climbed up on the stage, and looked at my agent with a gleam in my eye. I now knew how I was going to kill him. With Calypso watching from the doorway and my agent standing stage left, I recited my speech. The very same one before I killed them, and when I was finished, I checked how many bullets was left. Six. Only six bullets. I fired one each into his flabby thighs. He screamed for mercy and forgiveness. I fired one bullet into his left palm. His sobs were like Mozart to my ears. I fired one more into his right palm. Two left. I fired a shot into his genitals, and then grabbed the nearest chair and took a load off of my feet. My former agent was a bloody mess, but wasn't dead yet. I still contemplated whether or not I wanted him dead. I decided to wait until he would shut up. I seemingly waited for hours, and he sobbed quietly. I got up from my chair and slowly walked over to him. His eyes widened until I was standing nose to nose with him. He repulsed me, with tears, piss, and blood mixed to form a funky smell. For the first time since I stopped my lines, there was total silence. I slowly pulled out the knife, and whispered in his ear what I would do to his family, his wife, and his children. He started to scream such obscenities like "You won't get away with this, fucker!" and shit like that. Sensing that it was time to go, I held the knife against his throat and sliced it. "Curtain call, Harry." I gave Calypso his knife back, and hopped in my car. I drove off into the sunset, gun in hand, heading towards Harry's house. 


End file.
